Child of the Universe
by EpsilonPax
Summary: Pre-DOTM; Annabelle muses on the universe and the Autobots. Rated for mild cursing  both human and Cybertronian


**A/N: Set pre-DOTM and pre-ROTF; an introspective one shot that has the bad habit of having Annabelle be far older than what she would be in the actual movie-verse. Just an idea that I happened upon because I've been reading too much; brownie points for anyone who can catch where the quote is from! (no cheating!) enjoy! please R & R! ~~~Epsilon**

_"…The child of the universe." _

Blearily Annabelle Lennox cast her aching eyes once more over the tiny, black type that marched uniformly across the feather-light page. At the moment tired, only slightly beyond the point of caring and chilled from the draft—the evening breeze still managed to reach her at her father's desk nestled in the back of the Autobot hanger—she was struggling to remember why was she subjecting herself to AP English. Endeavoring to read the sentence for what she was nearly certain was the sixth time, the poetic phrasing at last caught hold of a niche within her curiosity. Sluggishly her mind gathered itself and wrested nearly the whole of her attention—which had thus far divided itself between the chill that had settled beneath her skin and the bony angles of her father's uncomfortable chair—on the single snippet of dialog; "…the child of the universe." Even in her wearily inhibited faculties, she felt herself drawn to the description, and wanted inexplicably to tease it out and discern precisely the attraction of the weft that that fabric held for her.

With a plaintive squeak of protest from the chair, Annabelle reclined back into the worn cushions as the phrase continued to chase itself, end over end, through her head. Feeling the first whisper of a headache, Annabelle casually flicked off the tiny desk lamp, her only source of illumination within the vastness of the hanger. All at once an ocean of blackness assaulted her senses. In the impenetrable void, temporarily bereft of sight, bitter fumes of diesel, which previously could only be hinted at, were sharpened and now rose prominently to her attention. Somewhere in the unseen beyond, Annabelle could hear the wind sigh and the waves of the ocean whisper soothing hushes and wordless nothings to the night. For the first time in days, Annabelle found herself completely alone. A barb of fear, not painful, but keen nonetheless, pierced her consciousness, and eager to soothe it away—she was quick to remind herself she was in the Autobot's hanger and soon surely one of them would doubtlessly happen by—she recalled the intent of her break from the novel she had been studying so judiciously moments before.

_The child of the universe. _

A ghost of some sort of smile graced her lips in the darkness. What a parentage! She found herself thinking. To have been derived of the universe itself! What would such a being look like? A marriage of whimsical imagination and shallow erudite fascination spurred her thoughts onward, no longer restricted by cobwebs of weariness. A jumble of puzzle piece images flitted through her mind: far-flung, fantastically colored nebulae and incorporeal vapors illuminated by ethereal starlight, worlds that she would never see which casted airless shadows of their own on the ever expanding beyond. Science camp and classes alike had taught her how physically beautiful the universe was. But for all of its vainglorious attributes, Annabelle mentally stumbled as harsher memories shredded the silent procession of idyllic galaxies far, far away.

Beings comprised of unyielding metal edges and harsh angles, burning eyes and grating voices that sounded like discordant claxons their desire to rend and destroy; she swallowed thickly, she had witnessed first hand the resulting trench like scars, carved furrows in both pliant human skin and alien alloys alike. It was frequently just one kind of aftermath that Decepticons nearly always left in their wake, aside from the apocalyptic destruction and all. Throughout the canvas of the universe, they had waged eons of war and she had to wonder how many worlds had already been brought to their knees and then to an inexorable crashing end because of the brutality of the Deceptions. Yes, the universe was beautiful, but it was a beauty made terrible and terrifying because of the existence of such beings.

But a child of the universe? She could hardly ever ascribe such an inherently graceful mantle upon the Decepticons. Perhaps, instead, they could be comfortably thought of as an inadvertent byproduct? Shifting in her perch to tuck her legs beneath her, Annabelle fluttered her eyes endeavoring to open them wider. Slowly she was becoming acclimated to the darkness, able to espy lumpy silhouettes that were scattered throughout the hanger. Flicking her gaze beyond a patch of charcoal shadows that memory reminded her were packing crates, she found herself looking to the entrance of the hanger bathed in what her night vision now distinctly viewed as brilliant moonlight. It was as she realized, with pleasurable certainty, her ability to see suddenly so perfectly the world beyond the hanger that a familiar cadence twitched in Annabelle's ears. An unworldly heartbeat of heavy footsteps accentuated by the sound of servos sighing and metal paneling and plating jostling together. Making no move to announce her presence to the approaching Autobot, Annabelle could at last let that spike of fearful loneliness sleep: she wasn't alone.

The monolithic figure came to halt just beyond the lip of the hanger, apparently ignorant of Annabelle's presence. No longer as competent in her night vision abilities, or at least not as much as she had thought herself to be, the indistinct moonbeams weren't quite enough to lend her any identifying detail as to which Autobot it was. Angled the way it was, she found herself at a loss to apprehend if the figure before her bore the bulky shoulders of Ironhide, or perhaps even the wing like doors of her Bumblebee.

Silent moments slipped by, and as Annabelle lost herself in the rubric's cube of animated machinery before her, another facet uncurled before her original mental pursuit: not only was the universe beautiful—in it's own terrible, terrifying way—but it was old, ancient even. And with age, came if not wisdom, then certainly experience. What was her self-imposed vocabulary word of the day? Ah, sagacity, that was it. Certainly, no matter whom it was that lingered beyond the arms of the hanger, Annabelle could readily apply such a term to any of the Autobots. Wise, patient and yet at times sorrowful, she knew from experience how to recognize that thread of commonality that was found within the vivacious Bumblebee, to the perpetually inquisitive Wheeljack, from the irascible and stubborn Ironhide—to say nothing of Ratchet—to, of course, the _sagacious—_this added with distinct pride in her vocabulary prowess—Optimus Prime.

Unmoving, and what she assumed to be lost in their own thoughts, Annabelle was beginning to let her attention slip away from the robotic sentience that lingered outside, and once more to her self imposed quandary. What, she internally began to muse, could a child of the universe look…all at once the question vanished in gossamer ribbons of thought because the figure had shifted their stance ever so slightly. Like a flood that initially begins as nothing more than an insistent stream, the moonlight flowed over the countless crevices, gliding the edges of armor with silvery definition. That which the moon failed to illuminate became black and glossy, and instead of the moon, reflected an unending blanket of stars in the metal paneling. But it was not a smooth facsimile, and never could be, the metal riddled with dents and gaps, it's hard surface furrowed with valleys of scratches and rents, the scars of battle and time alike.

"_The universe…makes a rather indifferent parent, I am afraid."_ Unbidden the rest of her book's dialog popped into her head. Unlikely to be heard by her ears but rather by her memory, with the faintest of butterfly clicks, Annabelle heard the being before her blink their optical lenses and like stars flaring into existence, a burning cerulean gaze broke the surface of the night. Although a uniform color of optic lenses amongst the Autobots, all at once Annabelle knew beyond any doubt who it was she shared the silent darkness with. An unmistakable noble countenance was flooded no longer by shadows, but rather by moonlight; even despite the fact his familiar dominating frame—identifiable decals bleached of color now—seemed somehow softened, still tipped with the silver of the stars as it was, there was no mistaking him.

Optics now at last flickered to the would be empty hanger beyond, habitually scanning and searching just in case. And then, discerning the life within, "Annabelle?" A velvet voice, a timber demanding and defensive, assertive though not aggressive, he spoke every word, no matter which, with conviction imbued with the power to move mountains.

No help for it now, with a sigh, Annabelle leaned forward, wincing at the wail her dad's chair made at her movements, and flicked the desk lamp back on. Needle like splinters of yellow light stabbed at her night coated eyes and ricocheted into the furthest corners of the hanger; even he blinked his optics once in the sudden change of light spectrums.

"Ouch." Annabelle chuckled as she rubbed her wounded eyes. Muscling past her watering gaze, she squinted as she looked up and over to the Autobot. With that same-measured step he fully excised himself from the night glamour, the moonbeams scattered and the veil of starlight fell away. Once more his armor shone with it's vivid deep blues broken only by flames of orange and red, the whole interspersed with the same ridges of scrapes and scarring that persisted from the cool silver of the moonlight to the warmer spectrum of the yellow.

That same earth moving timber once more parted the quiet, "Annabelle, were you here alone?"

She grinned, "You sound like my father, but no I'm not alone, at least I wouldn't have been for long. Besides Bee is going to come and pick me up in—" a hasty glance to her digital watch "—in another forty-five minutes."

He nodded his great countenance once in acknowledgement, "Why were you sitting in the dark, little one?"

"I was taking a break from my homework, and shut off the light to stop my headache." Which, thanks to the desk lamp, had now returned in full force. Hoping her dad had a stash of Advil somewhere in his desk, Annabelle began to rummage around in the drawers. "Damn, damn, double damn…" she mumbled finding none.

"That is not appropriate language for sparklings, little one."

Weariness exchanged her heady thoughts with a lighthearted, playful mood, "But it's a human swear word, so it's not offensive to you." Propping her backpack open in a yawning chasm, she casually used her arm to push the collective mess of books, pens, highlighters and the odd post-it note—courtesy of Wheeljack—off her dad's desk and into her bag. She'd get in trouble if she left it a mess, not that he particularly cared, but her Auntie Elena did, never mind it wasn't her desk.

"All the same, little one, it isn't appropriate for you to use such language."

Letting her playful snarky mood take the reins Annabelle couldn't help but glance over and toss a deliberate word to him, "_Slag."_

"That is hardly any better." He narrowed his optics, "Where did you hear that from?"

Pretending not to hear him, Annabelle ducked her head under the pretence of searching another drawer for aspirin; she wasn't about to rat out Bee or Ironhide…or her Uncle Epps, or Wheeljack.

"Annabelle."

Struck with a sudden idea, she peaked from behind the desk, "From Ratchet."

"From. Ratchet." His careful annunciation made her wince in preemptive sympathy for the Autobot medic, but then she remembered how taciturn he was; Ratchet could take it.

Annabelle yawned widely as her headache began to push at the backs of her eyes. No pretence now, she really was back on the hunt for some aspirin. Approaching frustration, Annabelle rose from her seated position and unceremoniously upended the contents of her backpack once again all over her dad's desk.

"What is the matter, little one?"

"Just a headache." She mumbled, "I think its just because I'm tired…" she spared a glance over to her watch, suddenly regretting telling Bee to come pick her up so late. But then, victory: "Ah ha!" There was the little white bottle she had been searching for! Eagerly popping the lid, she hesitated as two teal capsules slid onto her palm. Too bad she didn't have anything to drink to take them with. Replacing the aspirin and the cap alike, she looked up at the Autobot leader, wondering vaguely of the possibility of him having a spare water bottle in one of his cup holders if he transformed into his semi-truck form. When he calmly returned her gaze, Annabelle decided against asking, instead resorting to digging around in her dad's desk again.

"Bumblebee informs me he is three minutes away."

"You called him?" A surge of unlooked for energy flooded her limbs, and once again Annabelle tipped everything back into her bag.

"Of course, it is past a decent hour for you, little one."

Finished containing the mayhem of her studies, Annabelle managed a smile for him, "Thank you…that was thoughtful, and probably nicer than me bombarding him with annoying text messages like I always do."

"You do not need to thank me…"

Annabelle's attention drifted when she heard the growl of an approaching engine and moments later, Bumblebee's sleek Camaro form detached itself from the darkness as he pulled into the hanger. Tossing her backpack strap over a shoulder, Annabelle darted around her dad's desk, flicked off the lamp and scurried forward. Or rather she tried to scurry forward, but suddenly night blind, found herself without a sense of direction. Knowing the Autobot's would watch their step with a human running around in the darkness, she threw caution to the wind and continued forward in what she hoped was the right direction. A handful of steps later her foot collided with a distinctly solid, metal something and Annabelle felt herself pitched forward. There was a worried chirp from Bumblebee—had to be Bee because she had never known Prime to make any sort of sound that in any way even resembled a chirp—and she tensed fully expecting to come face first with the concrete. But the impact never came. Being plunged into the darkness, Annabelle couldn't see the large hand that scooped her up, intervening with troublesome gravity.

"Easy, little one, I have you."

There was a stream of clicks and whistles and then a blinding white light as Bee turned on his headlights. It was a full three minutes before Annabelle's eyes adjusted enough to make out her position: her backpack was on the floor some feet away, and she was sprawled on Prime's hand, suspended a comfortable distance above the ground; anxiously, Bee hovered but inches from her flung backpack. Mumbling more apologizes; Annabelle pushed herself into an upright sitting position and looked over her shoulder at first at Bee, who graciously flicked off his high beams, and then beyond. In the darkness immediately behind the now subdued headlights, once again the moonlight crept inward. Now, so close to the hanger entrance herself, she could readily perceive the patterns of starlight on his curvaceous and sleek exterior. Carefully clambering down from Optimus' hand, she took a step back, not out of fear, but just to study both of them. The moonbeams had returned, and every angle and edge was elucidated in the silver light.

Not understanding her sudden silence and hesitation, Optimus brought his countenance closer to her eye level, but not quite, "Are you alright, Annabelle?"

Her gaze traveled from his impossibly blue optics—two more pin points of illumination, worlds in their own right, in the vastness of the universal darkness—to Bumblebee's star scattered form, "Yeah…I'm alright."

Encouragingly, Bee opened his passenger door and this time Annabelle didn't hesitate to scoop up her backpack and join him. But before she ducked into the waiting comfort of Bee's interior—he always heated his seats for her—Annabelle looked back over to the silhouette of the Autobot Leader, "Thanks, Optimus and goodnight, I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow."

He bowed his regal head, once more etched out of the blackness by moonlight, "Good night, little one."

With a faint smile, weariness seeping with finality into her limbs, Annabelle folded herself into Bee's passenger seat and rested her cheek against the smooth leather but not leather. Hearing rather than feeling him shut his door and pull lithely out of the hanger, Annabelle reveled in the reassuring growl of his engine and breathed in deeply, enjoying the smell that wasn't leather but rather something lighter and sweeter with the faintest acrid hint of metal beneath it. She relaxed further into the cushions as he courteously reclined her seat and playfully flicked on his radio, fittingly finding a Kenny G jazz clip. Taking the hint and accepting his invitation for the sort of "sleep over" she had come to know so well throughout her childhood, Annabelle gave in to the heaviness of her eyelids and allowed sleep to ensconce her in it's embrace.


End file.
